


Danse Macabre

by Madame_Butterfly



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Sad with a Happy Ending, Synth Sole Survivor, angsty, i don't even know what i'm doing anymore, pre blind betrayal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 01:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6175753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Butterfly/pseuds/Madame_Butterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of the world when loyalties are questioned and when all else has failed what else really matters?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Danse Macabre

**Author's Note:**

> wow this is the first thing I've posted in like a year

                He was a synth. He was _not_ the Sole Survivor of Vault 111, just, a rogue lab experiment released into the Commonwealth by some scientist who had a sudden twinge of guilt. For that was all he knew, he knew nothing of his origins, only of the man he had replaced, only of Eric Archambault, husband to Nate Archambault, Eric, the real Eric being a man who as far as our protagonist could guess was lying dead in a gutter somewhere crows picking at his carcass.

                Preston had tried to talk to him but to no avail for the supposed _great_ general of the Commonwealth Minutemen was a fraud a fake and a fraud, nothing more possibly something less, he was no better than the nigh on infinite raider gangs and of the gunners who seemingly infested the Commonwealth.

                His memories were not his own, stolen, from a pre-war vault dweller, his memories of walking a picket line with the mill workers, The Great Famine, all those things that plagued the wealthy in the lead up to the Great War which would decimate the world as they knew it.

                He was not so foolish as to think he would be left alone in Sanctuary Hills sitting in his, Eric’s living room feeling sorry for himself. If anything Maxson would send a contingent to _dispose_ of him.

                He would be sent to wherever it is his lot go when they existence comes to an end, if indeed they go anywhere at all.

                He hoped the Minutemen would heed his word and stand down at the first sign of trouble, they would not die in vain for a corruption of human life, he hoped to ensure that. He would take no one with him when his time concluded.

                He was ready for what was to come about in what was only a matter of time, it was as if he could smell the steel of the power armour, the ash of laser rifles amongst the musty scent of Sanctuary Hills, for soon Sanctuary Hills would not be a sanctuary for a lowly Synth such as he.

                For in his mechanical heart he knew that soon his existence would end, neither anxiety nor impending death laced the air, for he was at peace with himself, for really what right did he have to assume the life of another?

                I must ask at this point dear reader do you pause to pity?

                Presently footsteps were heard outside, familiar though they be they were neither Prestons heavy, leather clad footsteps nor Curie’s small and at times uncertain steps it was instead the heavy and instantly recognisable steps of regulation boots and the scent of polished metal that filled the air of his surroundings.

                He rose quickly prepared to meet his end, his Waterloo as a great Pre-War general had once met his. For the house in Sanctuary Hills was his Scaffold, the Commonwealth would bear witness to his blood being spilt, for a gen 3 would bleed as a man but had not the heart of one. Now death had grasped his hand and the Dance of Death had begun, _Danse Macabre_ in the tongue of France

                He faced the Paladin, Paladin Danse, who he for some time had loved, secretly and quietly, never telling a soul. Never did he tell anyone of the whirlwind which would fill his breast whenever he saw the paladin or of the shivers he had when the Paladin brushed against him.

                “Danse” He breathed “I didn’t think they would send you” incredulous it was the Maxson would be so bold as to send the Synth's best friend and immediate superior. Had Maxson seen the desire in his eyes and deemed it too bold? Against decorum?

 

                “Eric, tell me this isn’t true, tell me you aren’t a synth” Danse looked him in the eye, the dim lighting and fading sunlight seemingly making the need for eye contact more intense

                “I-I” He could hardly speak his throat seized at every opportunity, his words catching “I-I’m quite sure I’m a synth, doubtless I would have died of some disease or another were I not, I-the real Eric was a Pre-War vault dweller, by all reasoning he would have died from disease and radiation almost immediately” The words tumbled out as if he were writing an essay, defending himself in court in place of a lawyer for Eric was and he had done this many times before. When life was so different.

                He could see Danse’s hand tightening on the laser rifle.

                “I will not plead for my life” Conceded he

                “They tell me I should hate you, I should kill you” Muttered Danse, clearly enduring inner turmoil.

                “I forgive you Danse, I shall not hold this against you, I forgive you, do as you need, just remember that I love you, Danse, I am in love with you. I shall never forget you, nor your caring and unassuming disposition wherever it is that I may end up after tonight” The words were quiet and slow but nonetheless flooded out from his mouth. He confessed all and everything in the scene unfolding before his eyes and of the settlers who had since gathered around the house all looming in the distance straining to listen in.

                Danse’s face was seized with a plethora of emotion, from love to frustration to life and death. It was as if the world itself had now filled them.

                “Few know of the ills and of the horrors that fill my breast Danse, nor of the uncertainty which otherwise grips me but now, I am certain, you do as you feel, for in reality what business have I to think of one who would never otherwise think of me?”

                “Oh Eric” Muttered Danse, slowly he stepped towards him reaching for his arm, ghosting his skin slightly before holding on.

He stepped back slightly, gasping quietly at the touch, Danse held him firmly.

                Next his laser rifle fell with a clatter.

                Uncertain of what was to come the synth was cautious, for now anything was possible.

                “I-I doubt that I could kill you” Danse says in earnest tones, the likes of which had never really been heard by one such as he for every action done by almost all was laden with deceit and lies and of ulterior motivation.

                “I don’t doubt now that I love you” By now the synth had reached forward the place his hand lightly on Danse’s unarmoured shoulder “In spite of all they have said, Maxson and all the rest, I see know that, you, you are as human as me or Haylen, I love you, I wish to stand with you and hold firm so that none will overtake us, gladly I will stand by your side and spill my blood for you, I had never understood these feelings before but now I see that they are for you, Eric, my love for you is what I feel” were the words he spoke before leaning forward to gently, ever so gently place a firm chaste kiss to the synths lips, _maybe_ thought he, _maybe I am now the real Eric after all?_

**Author's Note:**

> Tbh I'd love to see a few comments and kudos.
> 
> Thanks, tell me your thoughts everyone but be gentle please!


End file.
